Work Text:
This town bordering the river is neither too small, nor too big. It is drizzled by the approaching summer, the end of another school year. Although anxiety grips the hearts of many who dread upcoming exams, it is always good to remind ourselves that the point at which a year ends does not define us so much as the path we’ve travelled. It is therefore without much worry that I stroll along the four bare hallways of this school that is neither too small, nor too big, and if worry there was, it surely would not be found on simple pieces of paper.
Lunch break is nearly over, threatening me to return to the truly important things that matter, when suddenly the intercom blows out another of its banal announcements, except this time it pronounces – with a little too much effort – a name I seem to recognize : my own. The announcement is repeated, my name butchered still, I begin my journey. It seems that I will not have to mourn my recreation time just yet.
I find myself inside an office whose invisible door likely never appears unless your name is called to it. It is much too private to be that of a teacher, yet much too cozy to be that of a principal, almost as if somebody lived here. The wrinkled shirt, disheveled hair and deep dark circles around the eyes of the person before me rendered that impression all the more palpable. My leg bounces quietly as I impatiently await the end of her phone call, it was I who was called here after all. I am excited at the prospect of being rewarded, terrified at the idea of being punished. Whatever it is, let’s get it over with ! I’ve got a math class waiting for me.
At last, she hangs up, my name slips out of her lips with a questioning tone. I confirm it. It would have been rather odd for another to figure on this seat. Further formalities ensue :
“Sorry for that call, it was my daughter who’s at the hospital.” she apologizes.
“It’s not a problem.” I answer.
“How are you doing ?”
“Fine, and you, ma’am ?”
“I’m doing well, and please speak freely here, no need to be formal !”
She throws out a gentle smile, this person is doubtlessly nice, as is everyone here.
“Alright, before we begin, I want it to be clear that our meeting is absolutely confidential, and that nothing said here will leave this room, unless a statement puts you or another in danger. Is that clear ?”
I acquiesce with a hum and a nod, understanding to be dealing with what is probably some sort counselor, psychologist or social worker perhaps. This person is doubtlessly trustworthy, as is everyone here.
Her hands waving around with enthusiasm, she resumes :
“Secondly, know that there is absolutely no shame of any sort to be had here, alright ? Door’s open to anything, my only job here is to help students… So, um, the reason why you’ve been called here is the following : it has been reported by an anonymous student that you may be dealing with bullying from your peers. Is that something you think might resemble your experience, you think ?”
“Um… I don’t think so, no ?”
“You know, bullying has many shapes and forms. It doesn’t have to be physical violence at all. It could happen online or in person, it could just be displeasing remarks, maybe people speaking behind your back, or people setting you aside… What do you think ?”
With preoccupation and optimism, the fingers that finished enumerating all those things I believed to have already known interlaced with each other.
From early childhood we are framed by lectures about bullying, but rare are those who pay attention to the frame as the portrait of their childhood rolls by, and I am not that rare. It seems I’d been desensitized to sensitization, but the pretty sermons that habituation had rendered muted as the ticking of a clock now echoed across my being like a bell tower. This office is my purgatory, and we’d come to deliver salvation to me, who was not even baptised.
Furthermore, I have a guardian angel, someone who not only knew to pay attention enough to the creature that I am to discern the nature of my situation, but who also went through the pain of writing on simple pieces of paper the words that landed me in here. I hope to meet this person to thank her, perhaps could I make a friend before the school year ends. Alone I couldn’t do anything, but two could change the world.
All that remains is for me to extend my hand towards those looking to lighten some burden.
“No, doesn’t ring a bell. I mean, I know between friends we sometimes make pretty trashy jokes, but they remain jokes, and I could see how someone might have thought they’d seen something, but I assure you they’re mistaken.”
With those words, I’d betrayed my guardian angel.
The rest of our conversation will not be memorable, our words sounding as if through the surface of a swimming pool. As she eats everything I tell her, I swallow more and more water.
I finally escape from the office as we terminate our exchange, a breath of fresh air. I walk and walk, suddenly realizing that the four hallways that shaped the bare skeleton of this school were perhaps more labyrinthical than I had initially thought, and I’d forgotten my Ariadne’s thread back in that office. I must return to my mathematics class, but haphazardly I find myself in the bathroom, where I drizzle water upon my face, cooling down my boiling blood. In the mirror, I see a person who without a doubt made the only decision she could. From the height of her fifteen years of age, it was much too late to change the world. Facing such truth, she can only resign herself to live with it, either that, or she… Well, for now, let us return to class. She chokes the tap.
The door to the classroom opens and my comrades grant me my own warm welcome, dedicated to me and me only :
“Hey, the chink is back !”
I’m not even Chinese.